


Christmastime

by 8LunaFortuna8



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Boys Kissing, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Presents, Gift Giving, M/M, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-26
Updated: 2019-06-26
Packaged: 2020-05-20 06:50:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19371547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/8LunaFortuna8/pseuds/8LunaFortuna8
Summary: Crowley got something for Aziraphale for Christmas for the first time in 6,000 years (he's never liked Christmas but things have changed since the Almost-pocolypse) and what in all of hell is it? Aziraphale is having a hard time waiting for his present, and he's also having a hard time keeping his eyes off Crowley's ass 😏😏😏





	Christmastime

**Author's Note:**

  * For [caracaner](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caracaner/gifts).



> Ah, this is what I've been working on all morning and I'm really quite proud of it! It's just a bit of fluff but someone (@caracaner) requested it and it sounded very tempting! 
> 
> I hope it's everything you hoped for, dear! And I hope the rest of you enjoy as well (even as it's June here)!

Yuletide was, by far, the best time of year as far as Aziraphale was concerned. Sure, it celebrated the birth of Christ and all and there was that spirit of giving and loving and getting together with family, but those were small potatoes compared to the joys of winter at the bookshop. The cold meant his customers were halfed and fewer of his books disappeared from the shelves. Whenever it snowed, Az would close the shop and make massive amounts of hot cocoa to drink windowside with his favorite books. He hardly ever read anything new this time of year because it was just oh so enjoyable to go back to his favorites throughout the centuries.

 

Crowley, on the other hand, _hated_ Yule with a fiery passion. You may think, ah! Finally a demon doing a normal demonic thing, hating Christmas. But Christ’s birthday was farthest from Crowley’s mind in terms of his dislike of the event. He’d actually liked Christ, poor fellow-- no, it was the holiday shoppers that drove Crowley up the wall. And it was so bloody _cold._ Who said it could be that cold? Well, God probably, but _still_. Crowley was not against scarves, but holy _hell._

 

Whatever the case, the pair of them had holed up in the bookshop for the past few weeks, refusing to go out as they didn’t really need food. They ventured trips to the Ritz or one of Az’s sushi joints once or twice but they both agreed the reward was not worth the effort. Aziraphale consoled himself with Riesling and Châteauneuf-de-Pape and single-malt. He especially loved single-malt during the holidays; there was just something about it that screamed cozy winter time.

 

On this particular day, Christmas was but a week away and it was snowing out. More of a sludgy irritating snow than a White Christmas snow, but still. Aziraphale had shooed eager Christmas shoppers out an hour ago and had finally cleaned up enough to settle into his chair. Crowley came down the spiral staircase with lengths of colored lights in his arms and started stringing them along the border of the shop.

 

“Crowley? What in Go- I mean, whatever are you doing, dear?” Aziraphale twisted around in his chair to watch Crowley. Crowley just stared back with his shiny black glasses as the lights flickered to life. They were all red.

 

“I like them.”

Aziraphale resisted rolling his eyes (it was un-angel-like) and snapped his fingers. Half of the lights turned white. Crowley’s expression twisted into one of grumpiness for half a second before he relented and continued hanging the lights. Aziraphale did his damnedest to pay attention to _A Christmas Carol_ but he couldn’t keep himself from peering at Crowley from over the top of the book, watching him work. This became especially problematic when Crowley climbed up on a book-laden counter and Aziraphale was looking directly at his leather pants--

 

Aziraphale hurriedly dropped his eyes back to the page but somehow, _somehow_ , Crowley had noticed. “See something you like, angel?”

 

Aziraphale raised the book as subtly as he could to hide the red hot blush spreading through his cheeks. “The lights are crooked.”

 

“Ah, right.” Crowley turned back to them and Az risked another glance. He really ought not dress like that. Aziraphale shut the book in defeat and got up to help Crowley with the lights, really quite grumpy with himself by this point.

 

 

X

 

 

After the lights were all hung, Aziraphale had to admit, they were quite _nice_. They bathed the shop in a friendly glow and made it _double cozy_. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t tried this before! They’d been around for ages. “Can I ask you a favor, angel?” Crowley said, still admiring their work.

 

“Of course, my dear. What is it?”

“Would you… read to me?”  
“What?”

“No, I know, I _know_ it’s stupid, but-”

“I’d love to.”

 

And so Aziraphale made them both cocoa (Crowley was amazed he hadn’t gotten sick of it after several thousand years-- he’d had it for the first time with the Mayan people and he’d been hooked ever since) and Crowley threw pillows and blankets down onto the plush carpet of Az’s back room. Aziraphale seemed a little surprised that they were going to sit in the floor, but after he sat down he saw the appeal. Aziraphale leaned back against one of his shelves with a pillow behind him and Crowley rolled over in the floor next to him, pulling a blanket over his legs and yanking off his sunglasses.

 

Aziraphale flipped back to the beginning of _A Christmas Carol_ and read the opening lines:

 

“Marley was dead, to begin with. There was no doubt about that.”

 

 

X

 

 

The days till Christmas shortened and more customers flooded into Aziraphale’s shop, seeking shelter from the bitter snowstorm that was moving in upon them or looking for last minute Christmas gifts. Az began shortening his hours just so he would be able to get everything done in between. Every time he looked at the lights he and Crowley had hung, he smiled fondly. Crowley had been disappearing from the shop for days at a time and reappearing with no explanation at the oddest of hours. Aziraphale figured that if Crowley wanted him to know what was going on, he’d tell him-- still, Crowley had been abnormally quiet recently. Az knew how Crowley disliked the Christmas season so he reasoned that he may be down and out about that as well.

 

Despite many begging knocks and conversations through the shop’s front door, Aziraphale remained closed for Christmas Eve. He wanted to have this time to himself and try his very best to cheer Crowley up. Crowley had been gone for the past 12 hours, so when Az made up his mind to try and give Crowley a little extra attention, he had trouble getting anything else done. When the demon wondered in around 3 pm, Aziraphale even snapped, “We’re closed!” out of habit.

 

Crowley looked up at him the same way he had in Greece when Aziraphale had tempted him to oysters.

 

“Oh! Sorry, dear, didn’t realize it was you,” Aziraphale said, hopping out of his chair and leaving his book forgotten on the side table. “Where on Earth have you been?”

 

“Ah. Just dropped by Tadfield, dropped off our gifts for Adam and Anathema, that’s all. What’s wrong, angel?”

 

Aziraphale made a series of incomprehensible noises and stuttered, “Gifts-- gifts for- what?”

 

Crowley took off his snow-dampened sunglasses and folded them, shoving them into the pocket of his coat and unwinding the black scarf from around his neck. “I gave them all gifts from us. I knew you were too busy, so I went out and found them things and took them up there. It’s an old Earth tradition,” Crowley said as though he were speaking to a toddler. He wasn’t about to tell Azira what he got them (because then he had grounds to be accused of being sappy) so I shall tell you: for Adam, Crowley made scrapbooks of all the conspiracies he’d been the cause of; for Dog, a new collar with large spikes; for Newt and Anathema, a Parisian vacation (money was of no object); and for the Them, a massive tree house addition to their club house in the woods.

 

“Well that was awfully nice of you.” Aziraphale huffed.

“Mm.” Crowley just looked at him with those snake-like yellow eyes.

“Is that where you’ve been these past few days? Gathering gifts for everyone?”

“Mm.” Crowley was still being awfully quiet. Something wasn’t quite right. Aziraphale let a moment pass.

 

“Did you happen to get me anything?” he asked softly. Crowley let an especially tender smile flit across his features but it was gone in an instant.

“I did.”

“Really? That’s nice.” Aziraphale replied in the same casually interested tone. Az stood waiting for another beat before he added. “What is it?”

 

Crowley smirked yet again. “Those aren’t the rules of the game, angel. You can’t open Christmas presents until Christmas day.” Aziraphale looked anywhere but Crowley to communicate that _clearly_ he didn’t care.

 

“Ah, well. That’s fine.”  
“So I guess we’ll just have to find something to do until midnight.”

“Right.” Az agreed.

 

 

X

 

 

Aziraphale very quickly decided to follow another old Earth tradition-- he was going to bake Christmas cookies. Not for Santa exactly (Crowley again-- originally Santa wasn’t the jolly red gift-giver but Heaven had put their own spin on Crowley’s scheme to make it appear as Heaven’s idea the whole time) but just because he needed to pass the time. Besides, he had to wrap his present for Crowley.

 

X

 

 

Crowley eyed his gift for Aziraphale. Something so small, yet so valuable. It certainly looked nice-- it had half been a gift for Az and half a gift for _himself_. It looked so clean and well-kept for being so old-- lucky, really, that it been so well taken care of. He only had a few hours left to wait. Crowley decided on a simple black box with a large red bow on the front. It wasn’t very _him_ as far as presentation but Aziraphale made him a bit of a different person. More open and, dare he say it, _happy_. It was perfect.

 

 

 

X

 

 

At 11:30, Crowley and Aziraphale reunited in the back room of the shop where the pillows and blankets were still spread out from the week before. They’d taken turns reading to each other a few times now and it seemed imprudent to clean everything up (as they’d be using it again the next day anyhow). Crowley slid the black box across the carpet and Aziraphale exchanged it for a mushy package wrapped in brightly colored wrapping paper. Aziraphale set the plate of pristinely iced Christmas cookies between them and Crowley selected one from the top.

 

The cookies were still warm and the icing was a little melty as he bit into it. Aziraphale really had mastered baking. Crowley gave a little noise of happiness and Aziraphale’s head shot up.

 

“Is it too hot? Does it taste funny?” Aziraphale worried, misinterpreting the noise.

“It’s _perfect_ ,” Crowley moaned through a mouthful of cookie. Aziraphale sighed in relief and smiled at the demon. Aziraphale picked up a cookie for himself and was proud to say he agreed after a bite. The angel glanced up at the clock. 11:45-- just 15 minutes now.

 

Every second was torture. What could Crowley have gotten him? 6,000 years on this planet and they’d never done a Christmas. Crowley always said it was a silly tradition he wanted no part of whenever Aziraphale begged him for a Christmas but since the Almost-pocalypse, a few things had changed. Aziraphale sipped his cocoa and risked a glance at Crowley. Crowley was staring directly at him with a small smirk. Aziraphale coughed into his mug.

 

“You can’t wait, can you?”

“Sure I can. It’s 15 minutes.”

“But you don’t _want_ to.”

Aziraphale did not reply. Crowley was back to his tempting again; he just loved to see the angel squirm about doing things he shouldn’t. But Az wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction.

 

“But I’m _going_ to,” Aziraphale said sternly. The two stared each other down, blue eyes on yellow and back.

 

“You know,” Crowley said, reclining into a particularly nice position, “we never finished that book.” Aziraphale gulped and glanced at the clock. 13 minutes to go. May as well.

 

Aziraphale grabbed the copy of Dickens and hurriedly found the spot. There were only four or so pages left and Az would be damned if they didn’t finish _A Christmas Carol_ before Christmas.

 

 

X

 

 

“May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One!” Aziraphale clapped the book shut with a smile on his face. Crowley was also grinning.

 

“What?” Aziraphale said defensively and set the book down.

“It’s 12:07, angel.”

Aziraphale looked up at the clock and snatched the package from his side, slitting the tape and opening it carefully. Inside, neatly packaged, was a first edition of _Dracula_ , all the way back from 1897. It was one of the few classics Az didn’t have a first edition of because he hadn’t been in England at the time. But Crowley had. Of course Crowley had. Bram Stoker didn’t come up with Count Dracula out of thin air. Just inside the cover was a quill-scribbled note:

 

_Dear Mister Crowley, thank you for your divine inspiration for my novel. Best wishes of fortune and luck, Bram Stoker._

 

Aziraphale squeaked at the sight of it. When he looked up again, Crowley’s grin was ear to ear, but there was no sign of viciousness or evil; it was plain happiness shining through Crowley’s face. Aziraphale very gently hugged the book to his chest and whispered a breathless “thank you” before remembering: “Open your, open yours!”

 

Crowley shook his head and picked up the rather lumpy package with love. He tore it open much more slowly than Aziraphale had his, but was rather surprised at what was inside. It was a scarf. A lovely thick scarf, made of the softest black yarn with-

 

“Is that a snake?”

“Yes it is! I worked on that for a decade or two! Broke two pairs of knitting needles and a pair of scissors making it. I found that pattern in one of the old digests and had to make it for you!”

 

A red bellied snake wove it’s way through the black of the main scarf, it’s head at one end and the tail at the other. Crowley looked up. He didn’t know what to say-- he couldn’t.

 

“You’re always mentioning how cold it is this time of year and the scarf you have isn’t very _you,_ and-”

Crowley cut him off with a kiss. Aziraphale had been sitting cross-legged, just like Crowley, and now Crowley was on his hands and knees over Az, mouths pressed together. Crowley pulled back for a second to study the angel’s face. That stupid smirk must have been glued on because it hadn’t left his face for 15 minutes now. Aziraphale looked up dazedly, his mouth a bit agape.

 

“You- have you-- all this time?”

“Yes, angel.”

 

And they kissed again, Aziraphale sliding his hands up to pull Crowley closer.


End file.
